


Toil and Trouble

by Zigster



Series: Waffles, Wolfsbane, and Whatever Else Suits My Whimsy [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fire, I dont think paradoxical is a word, M/M, Stiles delves into magic, for self defense, heat - Freeform, just go with it, magic occurs, that might sound slightly paradoxical, weaponized wolfsbane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigster/pseuds/Zigster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants to be able to protect himself. So naturally, wolfsbane is the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toil and Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [einfach_mich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/gifts), [im_not_a_lizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_not_a_lizard/gifts), [fardareismai2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/gifts).



> This isn't beta'd. It's just a ficlet.

Somewhere between floating in a pool for four hours to stay away from a reptilian Jackson, and cowering in the corner of his dad's office as Issac lost control of his wolf and almost ate him, Stiles realizes that he needs another form of self defense under his belt besides knowing how to shoot a gun. What good are guns anyway? Every supernatural creature he knows is impervious to bullets. 

He didn't, however, sign on for what Deaton is currently doling out to him. 

No, literally. Deaton is scooping out little tablespoons worth of powdered wolfsbane laced with ginger root into a small, canvas sack. 

"Why ginger?" Stiles asks. 

"Because it smells nice."

Stiles just blinks at him. "That's seriously not the real reason, is it?" 

"No." 

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" 

"No." 

Stiles nods. That's fine. Google is his best buddy, anyway. He takes the sack from Deaton, along with specific instructions of how to brew a weaponized liquid of the werewolf flesh-eating variety. The idea terrifies him, but what terrifies him more is being helpless against a pack of big, bad Alpha wolves. He needs to protect himself and his own. 

It takes Stiles three attempts at the potion, and many a Harry Potter joke, before a lavender liquid the consistency of molasses sits in front of him, smelling like ginger and spice and all things nice. Stiles almost tingles as the fumes hit his nose. His ignores the shaky feeling in his limbs as he bottles each drop into twenty separate vials and then disposes of the brewing pot and all utensils he dare used. He places each vial upright in a Maverick'd shoe box at the bottom of his closet. When all is complete, he sits back on his heels and breathes a somber sigh of relief. He's prepared, but he feels no less safe. 

Deaton told him the only way to test if it works is on actual wolf flesh, and since all the werewolves he knows, he unfortunately likes, he's up the creek for experiments of potency. Not that it matters, since Stiles wakes up the next day with a howling pack of terror in his backyard. 

"Shit!" he screams before a clawed hand is clamped down on his mouth and there's a growling monster above him in his bed. Fierce, red eyes, so different from Derek's, glare at him with nothing but hunger and a need to kill radiating out of them. Stiles feels the panic rising in his throat, along with another scream, just as his fingers flex around a vial beneath his pillow. 

Realization hits him like a bucket of ice water and he fists the vial and thinks fast, biting down hard on the palm blocking his airflow. The Alpha above him growls and slaps Stiles across the mouth with his paw and it's all the reaction Stiles needs. He shatters the vial against the Alpha's throat, propelling him backwards. Stiles scampers away, falling off the bed and landing wrong on his leg. He hears the bone snap and knows he's screwed before he even has time to cry out at the pain. 

The horrible sound of searing meat distracts him enough to look up, seeing before him a horror he never would have imagined. The fur and skin of the Alpha are slowly curling and burning away from this muscle and sinew beneath. The Alpha is whining out such a sound, Stiles has to clamp his hands down over his ears to try and muffle the torture he's hearing. It doesn't matter, he can't tear his eyes away, paralyzed by the sight. 

A crash explodes behind him and suddenly, he's surrounded by strong arms and the smell of wet leaves and leather. 

"Derek," Stiles says, though he has no voice. Derek's eyes are red with worry and power, but his hands are human on Stiles' face. 

Without thinking, Stile touches the fingers of his right hand to Derek's arm and jerks back immediately at the fiery shock it causes. Derek's pupils dilate and he stares down at where Stiles touched, just as Stiles realizes what he's done: the potion! It was on his hands! His eyes go wide as he watches the patch of skin on Derek's arm turn white and a flicker of blue flame erupt and snake down his forearm to his hand. 

"No!" Stiles launches himself at the flame, as if he were a bucket of water. 

The second Stiles touches Derek, the flame explodes to encompass them both in the same tingles Stiles felt while brewing the potion not twelve hours earlier. He looks up, expecting melting flesh and festering wounds, and instead, finds Derek's face, as perfect as ever, staring at him with wonder. 

They're surrounded in a ball of heat, Derek's panting at the sight of Stiles in front of him, and every time their skin brushes against each other, Stiles feels each nerve ending in his body ignite. There's also a curious scent of ginger in the air and Stiles rolls his eyes as Derek advances on him, wanting to knee Deaton in the balls and shake his hand simultaneously. Only he would have a potion to both kill evil Alphas and send good Alphas into heat. 

What a pompous asshole.


End file.
